Wise Man

Pardon me, Fool, I had forgotten who I spoke to. Well, there are your four pennies--Fool you are called, And all day long they cry, 'Come hither, Fool.'

[The Fool goes close to him.

Or else it's, 'Fool, be gone.'

[The Fool goes further off.

Or, 'Fool, stand there.'

[The Fool straightens himself up.

Or, 'Fool, go sit in the corner.'

[The Fool sits in the corner.

And all the while What were they all but fools before I came? What are they now, but mirrors that seem men, Because of my image? Fool, hold up your head.

[Fool does so.

What foolish stories they have told of the ghosts That fumbled with the clothes upon the bed, Or creaked and shuffled in the corridor, Or else, if they were pious bred, Of angels from the skies, That coming through the door, Or, it may be, standing there, Would solidly out stare The steadiest eyes with their unnatural eyes, Aye, on a man's own floor.

[An angel has come in. It should be played by a man if a man can be found with the right voice, and may wear a little golden domino and a halo made of metal. Or the whole face may be a beautiful mask, in which case the last sentence on page 136 should not be spoken.

Yet it is strange, the strangest thing I have known, That I should still be haunted by the notion That there's a crisis of the spirit wherein We get new sight, and that they know some trick To turn our thoughts for their own ends to frenzy. Why do you put your finger to your lip, And creep away?

[Fool goes out.

(Wise Man sees Angel.) What are you? Who are you? I think I saw some like you in my dreams, When but a child. That thing about your head,-- That brightness in your hair--that flowery branch; But I have done with dreams, I have done with dreams.